


Private Campbell's War

by ShadesOfMauve



Series: Stars [3]
Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Ableist Language, Drabble Collection, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-20
Updated: 2015-05-20
Packaged: 2018-03-31 09:03:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3972040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShadesOfMauve/pseuds/ShadesOfMauve
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The war to stop the Reapers is raging, the Normandy is rushing to the rescue, and Private Sarah Campbell is the most put-upon marine in the Alliance Navy. (Drabbles set during Sunset and Evening Star).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Prisoner

**Author's Note:**

> Just another day in the awful, horrible, miserable life of Private Campbell.

Private Campbell had the worst job in the history of the Alliance marine corps.

Bad enough that she was stuck earthside, but then her ‘special security’ detail turned out to be guarding a _cripple_. They may as well have written “We have no faith in Private Campbell’s abilities” in her file and packed her off to admin. And the guy had a mouth on him.

Clearly, she’d pissed someone off, somewhere. There was no other explanation.

She kept her stern position behind her charge’s shoulder, and tried not to sneak glances at the cartoon he was watching while he ate.

The cartoon was stupid. She wouldn’t be caught dead watching it. Besides, she had a _duty_.

The worst duty **ever**.


	2. The Door

No matter where she went, Private Campbell got stuck with the shit jobs. You’d think a war breaking out would get her some action, a chance to show her stuff, maybe advance? _No_. She went from babysitting a smart-ass cripple who probably could’ve been guarded by her gramma’s Pekinese to watching a damn door. An important door? No. A door between two equally restricted areas that already had ample security.

Sometimes she wondered if it could get any worse… and then she heard that familiar limp, and her former prisoner walked in, which he only did to drive her up the wall because she knew he had no reason to be in the war room — and he _complimented her on the job she was doing._

Effusively.

Every time.

And she couldn’t complain, because it was a compliment, right? But when everyone knows your job is standing next to a door, and the guy who was supposedly some kind of terrorist a month ago was telling you how very, very good you were at standing next to a door, really, he’d never seen anyone with as much door-standing dedication, he really appreciated what you brought to the job, and he was technically a superior and you’d run out of creative ways to imagine murdering him —

— well, let’s just say that no matter where she went, _no one_ was as miserable as Private Campbell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one started with the prompts "Wherever I may roam" and "petty revenge."


	3. The fembot

You’d think that getting called out onto the Citadel while the rest of the ship’s crew was in lockdown would mean something exciting. That maybe all that sweat you’d poured into Basic was going to be worth it for once. That there’d be some action. Sure, Private Campbell knew that just wasn’t how life went for her, but she could _hope_ , damn it. She could match her pace perfectly with Westmoreland’s, boots tapping in perfect rhythm, and keep an eagle eye on the battered surroundings, professionally aware of the sidearm on her hip.

Private Campbell was ready to prove herself, if only someone would give her the slightest opportunity.

She just needed the order.

 _Private Campbell, this time we’re relying on you_ , would be good, but probably unrealistic. _Marine, take that ridge_ would work. Hell, even just _cover my back_. She’d settle.

But when they arrived at their destination, which basically looked like some hotel, her orders were “You, Campbell. Take the feet.”

Hoisting a metal body covered in fire retardant while two officers (the Commander herself and a Major, a _Major_ , for chrissakes) stood there looking serious was _not_ the opportunity Private Campbell had been hoping for. The fire retardant residue was ridiculously sticky and _fluorescent orange_. She was _never_ going to get the stains out of her uniform. And the fucking thing was a _lot_ a heavier than it looked.

At least the Commander had them put it in a body bag. Campbell did _not_ want every asshole between here and docking bay D24 knowing privates in the Alliance military were called out to dispose of their officers’ kinky sex toy disasters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (In case it isn't abundantly clear, Private Campbell here is in my Star to Steer Her By/Sunset and Evening Star 'verse, not in canon. Otherwise she'd never get to haul a dead robot all over the Citadel).


End file.
